Fallout: Equestria Chapter 5
Chapter Five: Calamity “''Friendship. Friendship never changes''.” Alive! I was still alive! As consciousness came back to me, I found myself laying on a mattress, with blankets tucked about me, feeling warm and rested and more comfortable than I had since before I left Stable Two three days ago. At least, I thought it was three days; I had no idea how long I had been unconscious. By habit, I lifted up my forehoof to check the date and time on my PipBuck. Doing so unsettled the blanket, which proceeded to slide to the floor. “Oh! Look who’s awake!” The pretty voice of a mare awfully close to me shocked me into full alertness. Looking up and about, I found myself surrounded by several ponies, only one of which I recognized -- and that was the pegasus who shot me up in the first place! I wondered if I was his prisoner. The voice had come from an equally pretty white-coated earth pony whose cotton-candy pink mane matched the pink and yellow-stripped nurse’s dress she was wearing. Scanning what I could see of the walls through the small crowd of ponies, I saw a line of three medical boxes (all the little pink butterflies perfectly in a row) and a faded pre-war poster apparently advertising jobs in health care services (“You don’t need to be a Steel Ranger to be a Hero! Join the Ministry of Peace today!” announced the mare on the poster, barely more than a filly, who wore the exact same dress that I saw brought to life before me). Between the décor and the lack of ropes or chains, I concluded this was a clinic, and I was not a captive. Besides, I was actually feeling quite good. Tired, almost like I needed a good nap… except I wasn’t sleepy. Just tired, and kinda warm. I sat up and the room spun. “Take it easy there, partner,” the pegasus whose name I recalled was Calamity -- although I was a bit fuzzy on how I had learned that – said, stepping towards me. I scooted back on the mattress. Oh sure, he looked polite and gentle now, with all these ponies around; but I’d seen him when he was all murder-from-above guns-blazing death-pegasus. “Candi?” one of the other ponies, a grey-coated earth pony with black mane and tail, asked as he looked to my nurse (although to me it sounded like he was calling her candy, and I felt an oddly cheerful urge to agree). “Oh, she’ll be perfectly fine. Ah mixed up the last healing potion she needed and gave it t’ her less than an hour ago.” “Mixed?” The grey earth pony raised an eyebrow dubiously. Candi smiled. “Why with apple schnapps, of course! Ah find the medicine always goes down better that way.” I couldn’t understand why the grey pony facehoofed. I felt perfectly fine now. Better than fine. And pleasantly warm. The grey stallion started shooing all my guests away. That made me feel slightly sad, although I really didn’t know any of them. I had felt so lonely the last few days, so eager to find civilization, and here it was, but he wasn’t letting me keep it. A thought which I realized didn’t quite make sense, although I wasn’t sure why. “Come on out when you’re feeling up to it. I know there’s some ponies who would like to see you.” The grey stallion smiled at me. Then looked at the rust-colored straggler. “You two, Calamity. Out you go.” Calamity took one look back at me before scooting out. Candi pranced up to me, whispering dreamily, “Such a handsome stallion, isn’t he?” “Who?” “Why Calamity, of course!” She giggled. I was at a loss for words. No, no I wasn’t. “He shot me.” She waved that off with a hoofwiggle. “Ah’m sure t’was just a misunderstandin’.” It was, I recalled, but… why was I having this conversation? If anything, I wanted to talk about how pretty Candi was (candy Candi!), not to talk about Calamity. Least of all whether or not he was handsome. None of which seemed to find a suitable way to be spoken aloud. Sulkingly, I fell back on reiterating, “He shot me…” Then added, “…a lot.” *** *** *** More rested, and with a much clearer head, I was eager to meet the ponies of New Appleloosa. By my PipBuck, I’d been out of it for nearly two days. I gazed over the railing at the walled village. Multiple lines of what I had realised were railroad tracks converged into a town made up largely of dozens upon dozens of virtually identical homes built from old passenger cars, many of them stacked two or three high. Most still had their wheels. Heavy metal boxcars formed a ring around the town, with a massive gate on either side. Armed pony guards walked around the tops of the boxcars, keeping their eyes on the wastes outside. Inside, scores of earth and unicorn ponies trotted about their daily lives. The place was dirty, rusty… and altogether wonderful! “How did you get them stacked like that?” I asked, looking up at the stacked train cars, the tallest group being four high. Railing and catwalks spanned out from it, connecting to other towers. On the highest roof, brilliantly glowing letters announced Turnpike Tavern. Railright, the grey and black stallion who turned out to be sheriff/mayor/general-hold-togetherer of the town, deadpanned, “Had one o’ the unicorn ponies do it.” I turned with a gasp, staring at him. I’d never heard of a pony levitating anything that big or heavy before! Railright held that serious expression just a moment longer before chortling. “Ah’m just playin’ with ya.” My astonishment faded to a sheepish grin as he smiled and pointed towards the sky behind us. “That’s what the crane is for.” Looking back and up, I could see the huge orange tower of metal jutting above the town, a massive hook dangling from it’s long arm. “Although,” he continued, “If yer lookin’ for a heavy lifter, ya can’t do better than Crane. Ya should talk t’ him.” “Talk to the crane?” I said slowly, trying to gauge if this was another joke. But it wasn’t. Crane, he told me, was the name of a unicorn pony who worked in the trainyard. “Won’t find a stronger telekinetic this side o’ the Canterlot Ruins.” With that, Railright offered to give me the grand tour. *** *** *** New Appleloosa’s general supplies store was called Absolutely Everything. It was the fourth stop on the tour. Railright smiled knowingly as he coaxed me towards the odd-looking building. Three train cars, each a different type, had been fused together to create the store; one of them was a barrel-shaped car of black metal dominated by a smokestack. This was one of the sources of smoke I had seen from a distance. Pausing in front of the door, I read the signs beneath the playful block letters of the store name: Yes, I do deliveries! No hooves, nasty stingers? No service. Ask me about special orders! I won’t answer, but I’ll get right on it! Wasteland Survival Guide! Available now! First copy for every family is free! I pushed the door open and stepped inside. And stopped with a gasp as I saw the zombie-pony from the raider library. I could tell she was the same one by the way one of her eyes rolled up. The fact that she recognized me with an immediate, bright smile and dashed over to give me (an uncomfortably squishy) hug, were admittedly also clues. She backtrotted and waved a forepaw about in what was a surprisingly effective combination of welcome and showing off of the store. (Something I hated to admit I was thankful for; the stench of her as she hugged me forced me to hold my breath. I had been sure gagging would have been impolite.) “uh… Hello again,” I said, feeling a little awkward. Last time this pegasus zombie-pony saw me, I was trotting off to put a bullet in a raider’s brainpan. “Howdy” said a familiar voice from off to my left. I’d been so focused on the zombie-pony that I’d totally missed that there were other people in the store. Turning, I found Calamity looking back at me with a bashful smile. “Look, ‘fore ya scamper, ah just want t’ say how sorry ah am!” I didn’t scamper, although I did take a cautious step back. “Ah’ve been gettin’ the story from Ditzy Doo here, see…” Ditzy Doo? I turned to the pegaus zombie. “You wrote the Wasteland Survival Guide?” Both Ditzy Doo’s eyes managed to focus on me and she absolutely beamed with joy, nodding fervently. Yes, I do deliveries. Suddenly, I had a very good idea how that book ended up in the Ponyville Library. Which, in turn, fortified my suspicions about Watcher. While I was thinking, Ditzy Doo had rushed up, another copy of the book in her mouth, and was stuffing it into my saddlebags. The zombie pony was amazingly kind and generous and had a severe problem with personal space. I opened my mouth to say something, maybe that I already had a copy (although considering there had been several pages torn out of the copy on the raider’s table, having another could still be quite helpful). However, whatever I was about to say got derailed by a strange realization. “You… don’t talk much, do you?” Could zombie-ponies talk? Ditzy Doo stepped back and opened her muzzle wide, giving me more a look at the inside of her mouth than I ever wanted. Calamity focused my attention, “Ditzy Doo’s tongue was cut out by slavers a few decades ago. She gets by without it real well though.” So then Monterey Jack’s warning had been cringingly accurate. Ditzy Doo trotted to the sales counter, where she picked up a pencil in her teeth and scribbled something on the first sheet of large pad of note paper. She dropped the pencil and held up the notepad, her eye going weird again. Looking strictly at the paper so my gaze didn’t rudely follow her eye, I read aloud, “Because I couldn’t talk, I took up writing. If it hadn’t been for that, I would never have gotten so good at it.” I looked up at her with a blink. Ditzy Doo put down the pad, picking up the pencil again, and added a line before lifting it again for me to read. “Now, how about we get you some better armor?” *** *** *** Bottle caps? That’s what ponies use for money out here? As absurd as it was, and it was ludicrous, I should have seen that coming. No wonder raiders were hoarding the things. No wonder there were empty bottles littered everywhere, but not a bottle cap to be found. (Except, of course, for the one I tossed casually away somewhere outside Ironshod Firearms.) My stable utility barding was back at Absolutely Everything. Ditzy Doo didn’t have any armor in my size, but swore she could modify my barding so it was better than the best armor any raider could scrounge together. She offered to do it for free, but I insisted on paying for her work. And that’s when I discovered the absolutely cockeyed (no offense to Ditzy) barter system used throughout the Equestrian Wasteland. “Bottle caps. Seriously.” Fortunately, pre-war money was still worth something, if only in bulk. If for no other reason than that they could get sodas out of the few machines that hadn’t simply been pried open and raided already. Ditzy Doo took all but a few of my coins; I had no idea if what I had given her was a fair price, but I suspect I was getting a generous discount. She also insisted on giving me a sheet of paper detailing an entirely different use for bottle caps -- a way to turn them into homemade mines. Apparently, it was going to be an insert for the Wasteland Survival Guide’s chapter on mines that somepony discouraged her (probably wisely) from including. When I had left Absolutely Everything, Railright commented, “Ditzy Doo’s our resident pegasus. As well as our resident ghoul.” Right, because ghoul-pony sounds so much better than zombie-pony. “Although,” he had continued, poking a hoof towards Calamity, “Ah keep telling this one he’s always welcome t’ settle down here in my town. He’s been keepin’ the caravans safe for goin’ on four years now.” Now, as I was on my way to meet Crane, with Calamity trotting along beside me, I finally ventured conversation with the rust-colored stallion. “So, you don’t live here?” “Nope. Got my own place ‘bout a half-hour’s flight distant.” I thought over what I knew of pegasus ponies. “A place up in the clouds?” I could swear Calamity’s eyes widened just bit. “Oh no. Just a shack. Something somepony threw together a few generations ago, only t’ get eaten by the wild animals in these here parts.” I’d already encountered some of the wild animals in these parts. As we walked down the catwalk, my gaze fell to the strange weapon that Calamity wore, my eyes following from the gun barrels to the odd metal protrusion that stuck out in front of him -- a control mechanism, I suspected. I opened my mouth to ask him about it, only to find myself looking at air. I stopped and looked back; he had halted abruptly to let by a mare in a straw sunhat and her colt. The mare was apparently having trouble keeping the colt from dashing off at top speed. She looked like she wanted a leash. “But ma! I wanna go see Derpy!” Calamity leaned close and whispered, “That’s what some folks call Ditzy Doo. Cuz of the eye.” Yeah, because that’s what they’d focus on; the bullies back in Stable Two would totally have ignored the whole putrefying flesh thing for that. “She doesn’t seem t’mind. Ah actually think she finds it endearing.” I did not point out that Ditzy Doo didn’t seem to mind having her tongue cut out either. Didn’t make it right. “Trolley, you get back here,” the mother called out as the colt started to trot a little too fast. “And you stay away from that store. I don’t want you bothering that thing.” Thing? Okay, I’ll admit I’d thought of her as an “it” a few times, but that was back when I thought she was dead. I stopped. “Excuse me, miss. I’m new here. Is there something wrong about zo… ghoul ponies?” The mare looked abashed, staring more at Calamity than me. I didn’t need to look; I could feel his scowl. “Well… nothin’ against good ol’ Derpy. Ah mean, miss Ditzy Doo. But… well, y’know…” “Know what?” I persisted, trying not to hint at the shame I was feeling for having balked at her smell or the grossly squishy way her hug felt. “Well…” The mare looked about furtively, then lowered her head, whispering, “Y’know they’re all like tickin’ time bombs, right? Ah mean, you can see what bein’ a ghoul is doin’ t’ their outsides. Imagine what it’s doing t’ their brains. They all go mad sooner or later. Dear Ditzy, she’s lasted a good long time an’ she’s only a li’l crazy for it. But someday… Ah just don’t want my boy t’ hurry that along none. Or be there when she does finally turn on us all.” With that, the mare drew herself up, pulled Trolley close, and hurried off. Away, notably, from Absolutely Everything. I stood there a long time, stunned. Finally, I asked Calamity, “Is that true?” Calamity sighed deeply, which was not a good sign. “Ayep… for most of ‘em anyway. Ya get inta the wrong places, y’ll find yerself hunted by whole packs of cannibal ghoul-ponies gone zombie. But, an’ I mean this, that’s only most of ‘em, and even they’re good pony folk, if a little smelly and strange-lookin’, until that day. Some, like Ditzy Doo, break the odds an’ never lose their noodle.” I understood the spirit of his words, but the news didn’t make me scared of the hairless pegasus writer. It made me ache for her. *** *** *** Crane was a yellow unicorn pony with an orange-and-beige striped mane and tail. He wore a bright orange construction hat with a hole in it for his horn. When we found him, he was loading barrels onto the flatbed of a train car -- this one actually still on the tracks that ran through town and connected to several others. “Howdy! Pleased t’ meet the little mare with the PipBuck who saved Sweet Apple and Ditzy Doo! Not t’ mention Desert Rose, Barrel Cactus an’ Turquoise!” He stopped to shake my hoof vigorously. “Please to meet you too,” I smiled, feeling a touch wobbly after the hoofshake. “Railright told me you’re the pony to talk to if I wanted to see some heavy lifting.” Crane smiled, then causally lifted three barrels at once, putting them in their places on the flatbed. “Reckon Ah am.” Then, to my shock, he asked, “What kinda spells ya got?” “Spells?” I replied hesitantly. “Ya know,” he continued talking while three more barrels levitated by, glowing with the same light as shown from his horn. “Unicorn ponies generally have a small collection of magical spells, usually related t’ what he or she is destined t’ be best at. (‘Cept for the ones who are destined t’ be good at spells, o’ course, cuz then they get a whole heap of ‘em.) Me fer instance, Ah can make all manner of repairs t’ the rails an’ trains just by focusin’ at ‘em.” Crap. Kicking a hoof at the ground, I sighed deeply. “Nope. Just telekinesis. No spells.” I knew it was pathetic. Levitation was basic filly stuff. By the time I got my cutie mark, every other unicorn in Stable Two had a nice collection of spells. Thank you, Crane, for reminding me that I was probably the most un-magical unicorn ever. Crane’s eyes widened in surprise. And he quickly changed the subject. “Now Ah’ve got lots o’ work t’ do, but ah tell y’ what. If y’all would do me a small favor, Ah’ll return it by teachin’ ya everything Ah know ‘bout heavy liftin’.” Sounded great to me. “What’s the favor?” Fetch him a soda? Maybe some lunch? Help tie down the barrels on the flatbed? “We been havin’ a small bit o’ trouble with the things that’ve been crawling up outta that ol’ Stable west o’ here. From what Ah hear, y’all are might brave an’ no slouch w’ slingin’ a firearm. Jus’ get down t’ the Stable an’ close the door. I reckon we can clear out the varmints up here if somepony locks off their breedin’ grounds.” Okay, not a soda run. *** *** *** “So why are you with me again?” The sky had darkened prematurely. I would soon have to turn on the lamp spell of my PipBuck. “Ah figured Ah owe ya one,” Calamity said earnestly as he followed beside me. “Maybe a whole mess o’ ones, considerin’ all y’ did for the good ponies of New Appleloosa.” With a sigh, I tried to console him. “You couldn’t have known. I was wearing blood-caked raider armor.” And carrying an arsenal that would make the average raider radioactive in envy. “Caked in raider blood. Armor ya only had cuz ya needed protection while saving the lives of five good townsponies!” “Only four, really. Ditzy Doo saved Sweet Apple.” “An’ you saved Ditzy Doo so she could save Sweet Apple. In muh book, that makes five.” He took a deep breath. “Besides, ah can’t consent t’ ya goin’ down there alone. Ah’ve heard dark stories about those Stables. Bad, bad things happened down in too many of ‘em.” “I came from a Stable. Hell, everypony came from somepony who came from a Stable, right? I can see why an empty one would be an inviting nesting ground, but it’s not like the Stables are cursed or sinister.” Calamity mulled that over. “Ah suppose yer right ‘bout that. All ‘cept the few like Ditzy Doo who somehow survived the apocalypse on the surface, or are descended from folk who did.” I halted my trot so abruptly I nearly fell over. My surviving canteen, refilled, swung out and back, smacking me in the chest. “Ditzy Doo survived the war? She’s that old?” “Ayep. Ghoul-ponies don’t age like normal pony-folk do.” The idea of a pony who had actually been around way back then, who knew what actually happened, blew my mind away. “What’s her story?” Calamity snorted a laugh. “So long ah couldn’t even guess at most of it. Ah do know she was flyin’ outside Cloudsdayle when that first megaspell hit it. She was caught at the very edge of the magical energies that wiped the entire city out of existence. Been a ghoul ever since.” I nodded, continuing on in solemn silence, the image of entire city in the clouds filled with pegasus ponies playing out in my head. There one minute, and then just nothing. The clouds above started to leak. *** *** *** It was like being in a shower back in Stable Two. Only the shower was everywhere! And it didn’t stop. If I hadn’t been cleaned by Candi the day before, I would have welcomed it, despite the cold of the water. Now, soaked to the bone, I just found it miserable. The sky had turned so dark I had to turn on my PipBuck’s lamp spell to see ahead of me. In theory, it was still daylight, but that was hard to believe. A ferocious wind had picked up out of nowhere and was whipping the rain at us like a weapon. “What’s going on?!?” I cried out to Calamity above the storm. “It’s a thunderstorm. An’ a mighty big one. We best be findin’ some shelter, cuz it’s just gettin’ started!” “Thunderstorm?” I hollered back as a patch of clouds lit up briefly but brilliantly. “What’s thunder?” KA-BOOOOOOOM!!! The sky exploded! It was like the sound of a gunshot, if the gun was wielded by Celestia Herself and was made out of pure awesome. I actually tried hiding under Calamity. “Get ahold o’ yerself there! “ Timidly and a little bashfully, I backed up and got to my hooves. Another flash illuminated the whole countryside in stark white and shadow, gone before I realized it had happened. Another mighty boom tore at the sky following close behind the flash. Calamity had to put his forehooves on me to stop me from trying again. “If y’all are that scared o’ the thunder, wait ‘till ya actually see the lightnin’!” He chuckled. “Now let’s get ta movin’ so’s we can find some shelter.” Each flash of light in the clouds was followed by a terrifying crack or a mighty boom. A little later, I did indeed see the lightning. I’d been envisioning lightning bolts like those blasts of electricity the brain-bots had been shooting at me. This was nothing like that. This was a white tear through the sky, like the universe itself had been slashed open. It lasted an eyeblink, but I still saw its afterimage floating in front of my face for several minutes later. I also saw somepony, or I thought I did, in the far distance on a hilltop briefly illuminated by the lightning. I couldn’t tell if it was a unicorn or a pegasus… at first, I thought it was both. But the vision was gone before I could be sure I had seen anything at all. We galloped, the ground beneath us increasingly muddy and treacherous, until we were forced to stop by a raging, frothy river. The muddy, rushing water was tearing away at the banks on each side. I could see the black shapes of uprooted dead trees as they were carried away. Just beyond the other side rose a cliff-face. Water was pouring down the cracks of the cliff in a hundred rivulets, each feeding into the river at the bottom. Across from us, just a little way up the cliff, was the dark mouth of a cave, the path up to it already washed away. I stood their staring helplessly, trying to figure out how we were going to get across. Then I felt myself being lifted into the air as Calamity flew us over the river and set me down in the mouth of the cave feeling stupid. I stepped further in, shining the lamp of my PipBuck into the cave. The path continued up about a yard, then took a steep decline with frightfully old metal stairs, rusted nearly black, leading to a concrete landing. Once at the landing, the rough walls were replaced by stonework. At the end, a very familiar-looking steel door hung open on its hinge-arm. The number 24 was emblazoned on the center of the door. Beyond lay a rusted, ruined doppelganger of the place I had once believed would forever be my home. Calamity rushed past me. “Don’t just stand there gawkin’. Help me get this door shut before that darned river spills its banks completely and floods this hole!” He was trying to push the door physically. I looked down, noticing for the first time that the floor of the cave was already a puddle, two inches deep and growing. Moved to action, I rushed to the controls. I paused long enough to check the bolting mechanism (which was actually entirely missing), and making sure I’d be able to open it again. Satisfied I could, I tried to push up the lever. It didn’t want to go. Focusing, my horn glowing brightly, I added my telekinetic strength to that of my hooves. With a loud grinding sound, the lever moved. With a wheeze, the lever arm moved, and the door to Stable 24 slammed shut, groaning in protest. *** *** *** “You realize we just shut ourselves into the Evil Scary Stable of Spookiness, right?” I teased my self-invited companion as he stared about the place in wonder. “ah-Ah’m trustin’ yer right ‘bout what ya said earlier. Reckon if anypony knows better, t’would be you.” He shot me a nervous smile. “Besides,” he added, flapping his wings, “not like these are gonna do me any good down here, one way or t’other.” My eyes caught the harness Calamity wore. The pegasus had twin long-range rifles, one strapped to each side of his body right under his wings, built into a saddle mechanism. Thin metal “reins” reached out in front of him, ending in a bit that hovered a few inches below his mouth. By biting on it, the sibling barrels would fire at once. The saddle was designed to reload on command -- possibly triggered by pulling on the bit, or biting differently. I couldn’t tell. “Hey, Calamity, I’ve been meanin’ t’ ask you, what is that?” I pointed a hoof at the contraption. “What?” He turned looking around, spinning in place. I couldn’t suppress a laugh. He stopped, looking at me, then back behind him again once more before, “What, you mean my battle saddle?” I nodded. “Fine piece of work, ain’t it? I designed it myself!” He reared up, showing it off proudly. Then, at my expression, asked, “Ya mean t’ tell me ya ain’t never seen a battle saddle before?” I shook my head. “Well, ain’t that a thing!” He strutted about. “There’s basically two types o’ firearms, loosely speakin’. There’s the small ones that a pony can stick in ‘is mouth or levitate ‘round if he’s a unicorn. Then there’s the battle saddles, for all the firearms that are just too big an’ heavy an’ have too much kick t’ be wielded without support. Ah’ve seen all kinds of weapons built into battle saddles. Machine guns, rocket launchers…” “Rocket launchers!” My tail drooped and ears fell back at the thought. “Ayep! Even magical energy weapons.” He paused. “…though those are damned scarce, so yer not likely t’ ever see one of ‘em yerself.” I filed that away for future reference. After checking my PipBuck for radiation or similar dangers, and E.F.S. for any glows of hostility, I took a long gulp from my canteen and began plotting our course. I was confident from my lifetime in a Stable that I could navigate this one with no problems. If the layout was the same, the door to the right in the next room should lead to stairs headed downward. That would be the cafeteria, living quarters, school and clinic. To the left, a corridor leading deeper into Maintenance, including the ever familiar PipBuck Technician maintenance stall. Without a second thought, I decided we would go right first. Calamity, meanwhile, had scouted all the immediately adjacent rooms. He came back with a mildly surprised look. “They gots a box o’ dynamite in the storage room over yonder.” Okay, that was a bit surprising. I felt my ears stick up. You weren’t going to find that in Stable Two. “What was in it.” “Dynamite, ah reckon,” Calamity said mock-scholarly. “In truth, Ah don’t know for sure. It was locked. And Ah wasn’t ‘bout t’ go shakin’ it like a birthday present t’ try’n figure it out. On the chance it might be fulla, y’know, dynamite.” I followed the rust-colored pegasus back to the storage room to check it out. But after three tries, and the loss of two more bobby pins (which I was beginning to run alarmingly low on), I had to admit the lock was beyond even my self-proclaimed expertise. Instead, I suggested we move on along the path I originally planned. The door to the living quarters slid open with a reassuring hiss. The lights gave off a familiar whine… those that still worked. Already, Stable Twenty-Four was making me horribly homesick. Worse, the dull ache in my heart mixed with disconcerting sense of wrongness. Seeing this place in rust and ruins was unpleasant in a way that I couldn’t describe. It was like walking through my own, personalized version of the post-apocalypse. I was finding doors that wouldn’t open. The floor was strewn with tin cans and litter. The generators, uncared for, were making an odd, rhythmic churring. And from deeper within came chugging, banging and hissing sounds that had no place in a Stable at all. This was a demoralizing, eerie, spook-house version of Stable Two. I turned to look back at Calamity and caught him picking bottle caps up off the floor. I bit my lip, bracing against a wave of emotion that shrieked he was desecrating the place. Looting and scavenging was survival out in the Equestrian Wasteland. And, logically, that applied to in here too. But, even more than stripping goods off fresh corpses, this felt like grave robbing. Unholy. My feelings scattered as, overhead, a burst of thunder hit so close to the cave that we could hear it inside the Stable. My heart thumped in my chest. “What the hell…?” I stammered, waving my forehooves to indicate the sky outside. “Ah told ya. Thunderstorm.” “That isn’t like any storm I’ve read about in my textbooks,” I countered. Calamity looked at me with a softly mocking expression. “Weather ain’t like it used ‘t be. The sun an’ moon ain’t guided through the sky by ponies anymore. We pegasus…” “The Goddesses Celestia and Luna move the sun and the moon through the sky each and every day!” I shot back, scandalized. How could he even say that! That was like… blasphemy! “Oh yeah.” He rolled his eyes at me. Rolled his eyes! “From their place in pony heaven. Right.” I bristled. He stared quietly until I gave in, motioning for him to continue. “As Ah was sayin’, we pegasus ain’t around schedulin’ the weather, neither. Equestria’s weather has gone wild.” I felt a chill down my mane. Through the metal walls and the mountain, we felt the percussion of the storm. *** *** *** I had begun to wonder how over-engineered Stable Two must have been for me never to have heard storms like these. Obviously, it was designed to stay closed longer, which I was figuring probably accounted for other architectural differences I had started to notice. “Huh,” I thought aloud. “There’s only one section of bathrooms.” At least, only one in the living quarters section of the Stable. Back in Stable Two, there were two. One for mares, one for stallions. The floor outside was wet and I could hear a roar gurgling, splashing sounds from behind the bathroom door. Also unlike Stable Two, Stable Twenty-Four was connected to the aquifer, its water supply merely purified with anti-toxin and anti-radiation spells. With the downpour outside, every sink and toilet was backing up. The same went for the water fountains. The one between the school and the living quarters was spraying brown water. The horrible noises were coming from the pipes and plumbing rather than unnatural monsters. I stopped dead as a red spot flashed up on the compass of my E.F.S. Somewhere, just ahead of us, was surely one of the creatures Crane had talked about. Not, I realized, that either of us had bothered to get a description. “So… any idea exactly what sort of ‘varmints’ we’re supposed to be looking for down here?” I whispered as we both crouched down, moving as stealthily as possible. While bathrooms weren’t segregated, sleeping areas were -- the main floor for stallions and a lower one for mares. That too was different than Stable Two, where the quarters were geared towards families. My E.F.S. felt annoyingly limited, unable to tell me which level the creature was on, just that it was almost dead ahead now. I levitated out Little Macintosh, ready as I could be. “Actually no,” Calamity whispered back. “And as Ah recall, we ain’t supposed t’ be lookin’ for ‘em. We’re supposed t’ just close the door.” “As I recall,” I retorted, maybe a slight bit less quietly than I should have, “I’m supposed to be closing the door. You aren’t supposed to be anywhere.” I couldn’t deny that he had a point. In fact, if trapped inside a creature’s lair, poking around was probably the dumbest thing a pony could possibly do. On the other hoof, this was another Stable. My curiosity and sense of connection wouldn’t allow me to leave it unexplored. And if I was trapped in here for a few hours, well, no time like the present. Calamity shook his head, but followed all the same. We moved a few steps closer, and the red spot winked out. I turned quickly, trying to see if it had somehow gotten behind us, but there was nothing. Either the creature had evaporated, or we were right on top of it, one floor up. We crouched there, keeping still and quiet. After a moment, the red spot appeared again, once more right in front of us. And a few seconds later it vanished once more. This time, apparently, for good. *** *** *** Aside from age and deterioration, the school in Stable Twenty-Four looked exactly like the one back home. Students tables, all in nice little rows. A sharing area with toys. The teacher’s desk, with a terminal, pencils and even a long-rotted apple. The only real difference was a large glass tank which could have once been an aquarium. Even with rusted walls, this felt like home. It should have been comforting. Instead, it was unpleasantly weird. And it was putting me on edge. The constant banging and screaming of the pipes was adding to my discomfort and giving me a mild headache for good measure. Worst of all, we had encountered three more “ghosts” -- hostile entities that appeared on my Eyes-Forward Sparkle, but nowhere else -- a matter not at all helped by the fact Calamity had no PipBuck of his own so he couldn’t tell what I was reacting to. I was beginning to worry that my Eye-Forward Sparkle, or even my PipBuck itself, had been damaged or warped by exposure to the Equestrian Wasteland. Unlikely, I reassured myself, remembering that they were made to withstand much worse than this. What was more likely, and less comforting, was that the creatures down here had magic of their own. “Ya ever heard of anypony named Prince Celest?” “What?” I trotted over, brow furrowing. “Lemme see that,” I said, snatching the book from the desk in front of him with a glow of telekinesis. I read a few sentences, then slammed the book shut to look at the cover. It was a children’s storybook. “The Stallion in the Moon?!” Calamity chuckled. “Y’know, Ah think ah member my ma readin’ me a story like that… only, it was a mare in the moon, if I recollect.” “That’s because it’s supposed to be The Mare in the Moon!’ Quickly, I began looking through the other books on the desks and school shelves. When I was done, I had reached to important-feeling observations. “One: every significant pony in every book had been changed into a stallion…” “Well, ah suspect some of ‘em were stallions t’ begin with…” “Two!” I continued undaunted, even though my voice sounded strained even to my own ears. “Not one story or textbook has anything but the vaguest references to the history or governance of Equestria.” Not that Stable Two’s library was stellar in that regard -- the most recent history in any of our textbooks was over a generation old. But this here wasn’t a lack of material. This was a deliberate alteration of facts and context! In the portion of the Stable dedicated to education! This was… it was… “Y’know, yer gonna burst somethin’ if ya don’t calm down a touch.” I tossed the book I was holding into the corner with malice. I was about to trot out, indignation wrapped about me like a cloak, when I remember the terminal sitting on the teacher’s desk. The screen was giving off a soft glow. I trotted over and prepared to hack into it, only to be slightly disappointed when it offered up its secrets readily. Such as they were. There entries were mainly filled with notes on attendance and grades. Two stuck out though. First: Had a real surprise when we tested the young unicorns on their magic today. I had all my little ponies bring in their pets and show me how they could make them levitate. Simple enough, although a squirming animal can add a level of difficulty for foals at this age. I had to let both Butter and Peridance each borrow the class mascot, since neither have a pet of their own. Peridance was thrilled, but I think Butter is terrified of the snake, even though she’s been told it’s defanged and harmless. Needless to say, Butter didn’t do very well. The real surprise was little Quanta, who has been struggling with even minor levitation all year. Now I know these things have never been recorded in girls, but I can’t imagine any other explanation: we had a full magical epiphany occur right in our classroom. Quanta not only levitated herself, but she let out a flash of energy that affected all of the pets in the room. Most just panicked and had to be recovered, but some (including our mascot) seem to have vanished completely. And strangest of all, the arcane flash seems to have transformed Carrot Tail’s ugly old cat into… well, an even uglier old cat. It only lasted a moment. Quanta seems fine. Didn’t even realize what she’d done. Of course, parents had to be called, and Carrot Tail is traumatized. It will be a miracle if I can teach these foals anything for the rest of the week. Meanwhile, I’m going to write up a proposal to have another unicorn stallion watch over these tests from now on. Just as a precaution. The second entry that stuck out was four days later, and it was the last entry on the terminal: I expected a few parents to keep their colts and fillies home after the excitement at the beginning of the week, but by now they should be letting them back. Instead, attendance is at its lowest yet. Over half my students have skipped their classes today. If things haven’t turned around after the weekend, I’m going to have to start calling parents. And if that doesn’t work, maybe even the Overstallion. I stared at that last entry for a while. “Wait… the Overstallion?” Calamity looked at me curiously. “What’s wrong?” “This Overmare of this Stable was an Overstallion?” He blinked, and then his eyes narrowed just a little. “What’s wrong with that?” “The Overmare is supposed to be an Overmare. That’s what’s wrong.” It was like explaining to a child. But instead of understanding, his eyes narrowed even more. “Are ya sayin’ a feller can’t do what a gal c’n do?” Taken aback suddenly, I tried to find the best way to explain. “N-no. It’s not that at all!” I waved my hooves in negation. “It’s just… It’s just the way it’s supposed to be. It’s tradition.” He didn’t move. His voice was very even. “Ya sayin’ that even if there was a feller who was better at leadin’ a Stable than any other pony, stallion or mare, and had the cutie mark t’ show for it an’ everything, that he wouldn’ be allowed t’ on account he was a buck?” I gulped, taking a step back. Dammit, but I was right. Yet there was nothing I could say to explain that I was right without digging myself deeper. So instead, I just clammed up and said nothing. Calamity turned and walked out of the classroom. This time, I followed him. *** *** *** “Okay, now Ah do feel a bit embarrassed.” In front of us was another door to Maintenance. To our right, the cafeteria. To our left, a maintenance store room. In the store room: a glowing terminal, several shelves of supplies, and a poster on the wall of a mighty stallion standing brave and tall, facing danger head-on, ready and able, while three mares crouched down at his hind hooves, frightened but looking up to him for salvation, adoration evident in their eyes. Calamity felt embarrassed. I felt something creeping more towards anger. It wasn’t that this turn should have taken us towards the atrium. I could forgive a severe divergence in Stable design (although it did irk me). It wasn’t the heroic stallion or the simpering mares. There’s a desire to be special and to be admired for your accomplishments that the poster played to which I fully understood. It wasn’t even that this was the fifth poster we’d come across and all of them catered to the same gender bias. It was that the stallion in the picture was valiantly holding a wrench in his teeth, and the unspeakable horror that had the girl ponies all cringing like frightened bunnies was apparently a leaky sink. Carefully, so as not to step on another social mine, “Do you see… why I’m upset? This isn’t like, give it to the best pony, who cares about tradition. This is…” “Ayep. This is manipulation. Alla these posters been here since before ponies trotted up into this Stable to avoid the apocalypse.” He turned and fixed me with a look. “It’s like sayin tha’ a job’s only fit fer either a mare or a stallion.” I got the point. “An’ that’s only true fer cookin’.” I stopped. My ears shot up and for a moment I bet they could have been steaming. “What?! What’s that supposed to…” And then I caught his sly look. “Oh. Ha ha. I guess I deserved that.” “Ayep.” We were quiet a moment. I turned to hack the storeroom terminal and read over the logs of a pony who appeared to be the maintenance supervisor while Calamity hoof-picked some supplies worth scavenging. The clanging and banging of the pipes continued relentlessly. But for a moment, I felt a little less stressed. I felt that I had just made it out of the social minefield, singed but intact. So, naturally, that was the moment everything went to hell. I had just finished the fourth entry and was partway through the final entry when my E.F.S. flared up with not one “ghost” but five! Entry One: I cannot believe my luck. Persimmonie is one fine mare. The date last night went incredibly well. She even let me kiss her! And her little filly, Carrot Tail, seems to like me too. Even better, I kinda like her. I don’t have to pretend like I thought I would just to spend some more time with her mother. In fact, we have a second date planned tomorrow night. Oh, and Greyhorn finally fixed the lighting on level 2-B. That flickering was driving everypony bonkers. Entry Two: Dammit, of all the luck. First, the whole lighting strip on guess-which-level blows out, plunging the damned atrium into blackness in the middle of rush. Even worse, Persimmonie postponed our date. Some unicorn filly did something wonky to Carrot Tail’s pet, and Persimmonie’s been with her all day trying to keep the little cunt from drowning in her own tears. I take it back. I hate children. Entry Three: Got called to the Overstallion’s office today. Big emergency that required my special talents. Any guesses? He locked himself out again. Again! This is the third time this week. Fortunately, any pony with half a lick of sense could get that thing open. Weakest damn lock I’ve ever seen. Still, just in case Greyhorn ever has to do it, I’ve left a handful of bobby pins and a copy of Today’s Locksmith in the Maintenance locker room safe. I’ve even highlighted the most useful bits for him. So as long as he doesn’t forget the password, even he shouldn’t have a problem. And I made the password his name, so… oh hell, he’ll still probably forget it. Meanwhile, my love life’s taken a turn for the worse. Persimmonie’s filly is apparently in the clinic. I hear the cat attacked her. They’ll probably have to put it down. Entry Four: Where the hell is Greyhorn? Idiot missed his whole damn shift today. Called up to his room, but no answer. Goddammit, I’ve got to do everything around here myself. Oh, I replaced the entire lighting assembly up on level 2-B and guess what? We’re still having problems. I swear to God the ponies who built this whole place must have been cutting corners. Probably cheated Stable-Tec out of fat loads of money. I hope their asses melted when the megaspells hit. Entry Five: Still no Greyhorn. Talked with some others, and they haven’t seen him either. Suggested I check medical. Would be just like him to find some way to fall and impale himself on his own horn. Dammit, there’s that scratching sound again. Something’s managed to get into the ventilation system. I’ve removed several of the covers on this floor. Hopefully, whatever it is will fall out and I won’t have to send some colt crawling in after it. Did I mention how much I hate children? Double-dammit. I just spotted the thing staring down at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was Carrot Tail’s damn cat. But they caught it and put it down yesterday. Tripple-dammit! The damn thing just bit me! I swear, I’m going to send a colt up there after it with a flamethrower! Looking up, I saw the dark opening where the covering grate should have been. And several pairs of alien eyes gleaming at me. “Calamity, get back, they’re in the ventilation!” Calamity backed away at my shout even as the first creature leapt out, landing on the shelving, spilling a bucket of fuses crashing to the floor. It looked only vaguely feline, but with scales rather than fur, oversized fangs and cat-like eyes save that the slits ran horizontally. Somehow, that last part freaked me out the most. I had made the mistake of putting Little Macintosh away. When it leapt at me, I didn’t have time to draw the gun out, or even think. I reacted instinctually, grabbing the creature telekinetically and hurling it away from me, just like with the grenade. Only this time, we were in a small room and there was no place for it to go, so just thumped back against the wall, pinned and hissing. A second jumped out, hitting the terminal, and fell to the floor. I raised a hindhoof and brought it down as hard as I could on the creature’s head. Rearing up, I treated the one I was pinning to a fatal blow from one of my forehooves. The third jumped right down onto me, claws catching in my mane. I screamed like a little filly. “Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!” I bucked, panicking, sending a hindhoof through the terminal with a crunching of glass and a popping explosion. I could feel the hairs around my hoof singeing. I turned towards the doorway and saw Calamity taking aim. BLAM! My mind conjured up a flashback of being wounded and dying, shot multiple times by this very same pony who was swooping down the tracks, aiming at me again. Without thinking, I threw myself to the floor, trying to dodge the shot… a second after Calamity had already fired, ripping the cat-snake-thing apart and leaving me unscathed. I got wobbly up to my hooves. I tried to smile, although I could feel it was more like a grimace. I could read it in his face: he wanted to tell me I should trust him, to tell me to stop being afraid he was going to shoot me. But he wasn’t going to. He couldn’t because he knew I had every right and reason to be gun-shy around him. That I should be acting this way. In that moment, I realized something. He was actually sorry he shot me. Not sorry he shot the new local hero who saved some townsfolk. But sorry he shot me. He wasn’t here out of embarrassment. He wasn’t trying to fix some loss of reputation or standing, either in his eyes or anybody else’s. He really felt regretful that I nearly died. I didn’t even realize I was thinking about him that way. But now I realized I had been. Dammit, now I felt like I should apologize to him. He turned away, looking up at the ceiling. “Ah figure the sound of the shot scare’t ‘em off.” “For now,” I agreed. I had my revelation, but I couldn’t tell him. He’d just deny it, and then there’d be awkwardness. He was a boy, after all… Dammit! I scolded myself for having such a thought Not that it was hard to figure out what had me thinking like that. I glared at the stupid poster. “I hate this Stable.” *** *** *** Little Macintosh whipped around, firing off three more S.A.T.S.-guided shots. Three more of the evil little cat-snake-things were blown into oblivion. They were easy to kill, which hardly made up for being so small, fast an agile. And extremely aggressive! Several more tried to jump onto Calamity, finding purchase with their claws. He bucked, throwing back his wings, sending them flying, and buck-kicked one of the fallen into a reddish paste. “How many… of these li’l monster… ya reckon we got?” I fired at one of the creatures Calamity had thrown, missing. And again, hitting this time. The last got by me, leaping for Calamity’s back. I heard him howl as the creature sunk its teeth into the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it!” I wrenched the creature away telekinetically, my horn glowing fiercely as it brought Little Macintosh up to the mewling thing dripping with Calamity’s blood and pulled the trigger. “Damn, those things got a bite.” “Hold still. Let me look.” I was already pulling medical bandages out of my saddlebags. I was nearly out of those. I knew we could get some in either the clinic (which should be ahead) or the living quarters bathroom (which would mean a lot of backtracking). We had gone through Maintenance, a trip that had been a long, wet but uneventful slog through the lowest part of the Stable which was half-filled with water. We had found the locker room, and with the password we had opened the safe. My bobby pin collection was now far more comfortable, and Today’s Locksmith was tucked neatly in my saddle bags. The only creatures we had found in Maintenance were dead. Drowned. Despite looking like a cross between a serpent and a cat, the little monsters didn’t seem able to swim. Thank the wasteland for small favors when you can get them. We did, however, start finding skeletons. Sporadically at first, and now in groups. The closer we got to the atrium, the heart of the Stable, the more death we found. I couldn’t hold back the images of someone walking through Stable Two and finding the bodies of everyone I had known for all but the last few days of my life dead like this. For a moment, it was too much. I had to rest, to clear my head. No less than nine of the damn things chose that moment to attack us. Wrapping Calamity’s wound, I grimaced at my lack of medical skill. If I tried to join the “Ministry of Peace” they’d kick me out on my tail. It was bad enough when only I would die if I didn’t know the right end of a potion bottle. I really didn’t like having anypony else relying on my (lack of) skill. Still, we were up and moving in the right direction. Except we really weren’t, were we? The more I thought about it, the less reasonable my reasons for wandering around down here seemed. Finishing, I turned away and looked back down the way we came. “Okay, that’s it. I’ve been a dumb pony. We turn around, gallop back to the entrance as fast as we can, barricade ourselves and wait the damn storm out. Then we leave and close the door behind us.” “ahm… actually… Ah vote we continue t’ the clinic.” I turned, surprised. Seeing Calamity, my surprise turned to shock. Then horror. “Ah’m guessin’ y’all…” he teetered, looking pale beneath his coat. “…would keep somethin’ there for… y’know… poison?” Thump. Down went the pegasus. “Calamity!” *** *** *** Chimera from the personal notes of Doctor Brierberry, Head of Medicine, Stable 24 I’ve chosen to call this new species “chimera” for what I feel are suitably obvious reasons. The creature is a result of a wild magical burst from a rather exceptionally gifted filly named Quanta. In a flash of uncontrolled magical power, Quanta managed to fuse several creatures within her vicinity into a single being -- a fully functional and completely new life form. The initially created chimera took several days to molt before revealing its true nature, during which time another filly, Carrot Tail, was attacked by the creature. She was rushed to the clinic, but perished within hours from an unknown magical toxin injected into the child by the creature. After molting, the chimera subsequently attacked a maintenance worker by the name of Greyhorn. This time, both the chimera and its victim were fully mature. Based on the case of Carrot Tail, we treated Greyhorn with antivenom spells and potions, but to no avail. Greyhorn lasted three times as long as Carrot Tail, and was in extreme agony for most of that period. It was only after Greyhorn’s death that we learned the key component of the chimera’s make-up. As you will be able to see from the images I am having attached to this document, the feline and serpentine elements of the fusion are quite obvious. (See images C-1 and C-2) What we initially didn’t realize, couldn’t have suspected, is that there had been some manner of insect in the classroom when Roe cast her spell, and that too was infused into the creature on a deeply inherent level. You see, the fangs of the chimera aren’t so much like the fangs of a rattlesnake, but more akin to an insect’s ovipositor. The behavior of this species is extremely aggressive, attacking any suitable host within which it can inject its eggs. Over the course of a single day, those eggs will mature within the host, after which a litter of new, baby chimera will dig their way out of the infected pony, ultimately killing the host if the pony is not already dead. In the case of Greyhorn, five new chimera erupted from his body less than an hour after he was pronounced dead. (See image C-3) You can imagine the look on my assistant’s face. (But you don’t have to. See image C-4) Fortunately, from the case of Greyhorn, and the baby chimera specimens he provided us with, we have been able to devise and conjure an anti-chimera potion. Unfortunately, some of the herbs required were in tragically short supply, so there is a high probability that we will not have sufficient quantities for everyone. The Overstallion is keeping one bottle locked away in his office, along with the recipe. Meanwhile, I am storing the rest in the medical refrigerator here in the clinic while I wait for the Overstallion’s decision on how to implement dispersal. Oh Celestia have mercy! By the time I was done reading, horror turned me numb. Slowly, I got up from Doctor Brierberry’s terminal and stared about the clinic. There were pony skeletons everywhere. Dozens of them surged towards the open door of the medical fridge. Others were entangled around each other. A new species, extremely hostile, which renders its victims immobile with a single bite and then tortures them to death from the inside over most of a day… and in doing so can quintuple its number? I swiftly realized the only thing that had kept the chimera from overrunning the Equestrian Wasteland was that river and the fact that these chimera can’t swim. Thank the wasteland for huge favors! If we survived this, I was going to have a little talk with Crane about his definition of a “small bit o’ trouble”. Understatement was not a virtue in the Equestrian Wasteland. I looked at the bed Calamity was resting on, looking even weaker than before. Oh Goddess. I couldn’t tell him this! Let him think he’s poisoned; it’s so much better than this. Pointlessly, I stepped over and swung back the door of the fridge, already knowing I would find nothing inside. Okay, one last shot. I walked to the clinic window and looked out into the atrium. The room was dark. Every light in it had failed. The only illumination came from the couple still functional lights of the clinic, and the stuttering, flickering light from the circular window in the Overmare’s (no, Overstallion’s) office above. If there was a single dose of the… “antidote”… left, it would be locked away in a safe up there. The only way to get to it was through the atrium. The atrium was teeming with chimera. Swallowing hard, I turned to Calamity. And told him the plan. After staring at me for a long time, Calamity finally said, “That’s insane.” I focused, my horn beginning to glow, and slipped open my saddlepack. “I’ll be okay.” “No ya won’t! That’s suicide. An’ ya ‘ll be killin’ both of us!” I looked at him sternly. “Let me guess. You’re thinking you should do it yourself, seeing as you’re already… poisoned. Never mind that you can’t even stand up without help. And barely with it.” The rust-colored pegasus managed to look cross. “Then get yerself out of here. Least one of us will survive this crazy Stable.” Now I got to play cross. “I’m not leaving my friend behind.” I reloaded Little Macintosh. Calamity caughed. He looked a me with genuine astonishment. “Friend? But… Ah shot ya.” I rolled my eyes at him. And nodded. “Yes, you did. And I’m planning to needle you about that for the rest of your life. And I’m sure not going to get my blood’s worth if you die today.” “Don’t be a stubborn fool, LilPip. There’s no way in tarnation ya can possibly…” Levitating the StealthBuck up for Calamity to see, I smiled with a whole lot more confidence than I felt. “I do have this.” *** *** *** It was, without question, the most harrowing two hours of my life. Inching my way through darkness, surrounded by lethal predators. They couldn’t see me. But in the darkness, it was only by my E.F.S. and targeting spell that I was able to keep from stepping on or brushing against one of them. It was a minefield. And as I crossed, I realized just how calling my own stupidity a “social minefield” did flippant injustice to an actual minefield, and anyone who had ever been caught in one. This was a minefield. And all the mines were alive and moving. One wrong move, and it wasn’t just I who would die for it. But I did make it. And for once the wasteland was pouring out the favors. The Overstallion’s door was as easy to pick as advertised. From the skeleton, I guessed the Overstallion locked himself in, and I feared he had consumed the anti-chimera potion. But within his locked safe, I found both it and the recipe, as well as an old recording. My guess was that it was his last words. If it had been Stable Two, and I had been the Overmare, watching everyone die because of some magical accident? I suspect I might have done the same. I took all three items. I figured I should, considering what I was going to do next. Even after drinking the remedy, Calamity was going to take some time to recover. There was no way to know how long. Lifting both the pegasus and Little Macintosh, I followed my path back, all too aware that the damn chimera were using the ventilation and that even cleared areas were not to be trusted. I made it all the way back to the storage room near the main door. Sitting down with Today’s Locksmith, I went though, finding all the tips I could in a short amount of time. The highlighting really helped. Outside, thunder shook the mountain reassuringly. I looked up and thanked Celestia for the storm. The tips from the book proved useful. With a bit of effort and only one bobby pin, I was able to get the box marked dynamite. Inside, there was indeed dynamite. I removed each stick gingerly. Then placed a curled up Calamity into the box, closing it. Should a chimera come for him while I was busy, I didn’t want it to be able to get at him. For the next few hours, I ran back through the entirety of Stable Twenty-Four. Everything but the atrium. I opened each door that could be opened. And then blocked it with a trash can or a tipped-over filing cabinet or anything else that would keep the door from closing. As for the Atrium, after looting the clinic for medical supplies, I left a stick of burning dynamite on the windowsill of the Clinic and ran. The rest of the dynamite was to blow the cave opening enough to bring the river pouring in. By the time I was ready to set that off, Calamity had gotten up and wondered why he was packaged as high explosive. His eyes got wider and wider as I explained what I was doing. “Dayumn!” That was all. *** *** *** We’d been down in Stable Twenty-Four for most of the night. It was dawn by the time we returned to New Appleloosa. At least in theory. The storm had stopped pounding the crap out of the wasteland and was now content to just rain on us. Candi was kind enough to let me crash on an unused bed in her clinic. More than fair payment for giving her the anti-chimera cure. One copy of it, that is. It was still raining after I woke up, later in the afternoon. And it was late evening before Calamity had woken up and trotted out to join me. By then, I had finally been making some progress under Crane’s tutelage. I was panting, sweating heavily, as we stopped for a Sparkle~Cola break. “I say we’re even,” I told Calamity as Crane floated an ice-cold Sparkle~Cola over for each of us. “Ah don’t understand.” “If we’d just stayed put at the door, you would never have been bitten.” “If we’d stayed at the door, ya never woulda got the antidote.” “If we’d stayed put, you never would have needed it.” “Ah-ha! But somepony else might! Crane said they’d been havin’ trouble with the critters, so obviously some of ‘em had been gettin’ out.” Crap! I’d forgotten all about that. Still, with luck, and with their nest destroyed… “It wasn’t yer Stable, y’know.” Calamity’s voice had taken a solemn quality. I looked at my new friend. “What?” “Ah know ya grew up in a Stable. But it wasn’t that Stable.” Of course it wasn’t. I knew that, but I still wasn’t sure what Calamity was getting at. “It’s just… ya seemed t’ be takin’ what we found down there, Ah dunno… personally.” He looked at me earnestly. “Ah just wanted t’ remind ya, is all.” He was right, of course. I don’t know what I was looking for or I had expected to find. But I’d let Stable Twenty-Four become a personal affront. Stable Twenty-Four had never been my home. I had no relation to it at all. The only threads connecting the different Stables were two hundred years old, dead and buried in a history mostly forgotten. Stable-Tec hadn’t existed in a long, long time. I had no allegiance to it, and the long dead couldn’t bear any responsibility to me. “Oh!” I pulled out the recording from the Overstallion’s office. “Should we hear what’s on it?”